


comfort...

by startswithhope



Series: one cuddle at a time... [4]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, M/M, Original Character Death(s), circle of life stuff, mild angst but it's all okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:27:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22530940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startswithhope/pseuds/startswithhope
Summary: 1. the easing or alleviation of a person’s feelings of grief or distress
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: one cuddle at a time... [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612444
Comments: 15
Kudos: 192





	comfort...

Much like a dancer choosing a spot in the distance to focus on as they spin, he’s found a focal point, a buoy of dark navy in a sea of shades of black. His emotions are still hanging by a very thin thread, but if he just stares at this blue jacket a little while longer maybe he can get through this without falling apart. Today was inevitable and he’d thought himself prepared, but the stinging behind his eyes and unsteady breaths he’s forcing out his nose are telling him otherwise. His fingers ache from clenching deep in his pockets, wishing more than anything to feel the familiar press of rings against his skin. He thought he could do this alone and maybe he should be able, but god, he doesn’t want to. 

The man in the navy jacket moves and Patrick feels a bit of panic rise in his chest, desperate to keep his anchor even as the man hugs his mother and walks towards the front of the house. As he gets to the door, Patrick moves a step as if he might want to follow him out, but freezes when black immediately replaces blue. A hot tear brands his skin at the sight of David walking into his parents’ house, head to toe in his signature pitch black and perfect. Patrick is weaving through the crowd with a singular purpose but his father gets to David first, welcoming him with an unexpected hug. The sight of it loosens the last knot holding Patrick together and he finds himself stumbling through tears the last few steps to David’s arms.

Sandalwood and ginger fill his nostrils as he buries his face into the side of David’s neck and he closes his eyes, uncaring of prying eyes as he does his best to disappear into the solidness of David’s chest and the soul deep comfort of his arms. There’s a small part of him chastising his weakness, but the soft whisper of David’s voice and the press of his fingers against Patrick’s spine tell him otherwise. There’s strength in vulnerability. This is just one of the many lessons learned from loving David Rose.

“Let’s go upstairs,” David orders softly, pulling back, but quickly grabbing Patrick’s hand to lead him towards the stairs. He’s been here before, so he knows where to go and silently walks them into Patrick’s childhood bedroom. Patrick smiles for the first time today at the memory of the last time they were here together, flashes of images of David crawling down his body on his too small mattress bringing a flood of heat to his dampened cheeks.

“You’re smiling.”

Patrick grabs hold of the front of David’s sweater as David’s hands come up to frame his cheeks, the cool press of his rings a grounding force as his thumbs move softly across the bags under Patrick’s eyes.

“You’re here.”

David just nods, his lips soft and perfect on Patrick’s forehead before pulling him in for another hug. Patrick doesn’t move his hands from where they’re trapped between them, letting David’s arms wrap around him like a cocoon as he kisses David’s neck. Once, twice, and a third time as the simple comfort and familiarity of it settles his nerves and makes him feel like he’s maybe going to be okay. 

“Do you want to talk about him?”

He does, but he’s not sure if he can. His grandfather has been his favorite person since Patrick was five. He taught him how to play baseball, playing catch with him in the backyard of this house for hours until Patrick’s arm was sore and cheeks hurt from smiling. As he got older, his grandfather would sit in his recliner with Patrick on the couch and they’d watch the Jays with beers and endless conversation. The talk they had a little over a year ago, with fearful tears crowding his eyes and his voice soft and unsure, will remain with him forever. It was with his grandfather that Patrick first voiced the words, “I’m gay”, and those words, those powerful, scary words, were welcomed with open arms and unconditional love. He’d asked a million questions, some appropriate, some not, but all from an honest desire to understand. And Patrick had never felt more free.

“I loved him.”

It’s all Patrick can bring himself to say.

David doesn’t say anything immediately in response, but his arms wind around Patrick’s back a bit tighter and Patrick can feel him release a deep breath from deep in his chest. He’d met Patrick’s grandfather only once, at their wedding, but the speech he’d given at the reception had left David swimming in tears. And David speaking softly to him later, with his grandfather’s hand firmly clasped on David’s shoulder, remains a more vivid memory of that perfect day.

When David finally speaks, his voice is soft and muffled as he whispers into the side of Patrick’s hair.

“I loved how he loved you.”

The truth behind David’s words hits Patrick square in the chest and a ragged breath escapes his lips, but David’s arms are there, holding him close as fresh tears fall from his eyes, soaking David’s neck and the collar of his sweater. But he doesn’t let go. And Patrick can practically hear his grandfather’s voice, deep and gravely, saying almost the exact same words to him before leaving their wedding reception on slightly unsteady legs.

“I love how he loves you, son.”


End file.
